After Tonight
by usuk-team
Summary: Arthur was separated from his mother at a fairly young age, and when his father has to move back to their hometown in the United States, the Briton forms a relationship with someone he never would've known.
1. Did you know

Now before people say something-yes, I know there is a fanfic with the same title.

And yes, I did this on purpose.

The user hetalialovesyou is a friend of mine, and she has decided to completely resign from and , and so, she's trusted me to rewrite and finish the fanfiction she had been working on.

I know for those who were reading her fanfic are going to think it's a little different, and yes, it is. I've changed some things, but hetalialovesyou has agreed to it, as long as I keep the major twist. So, without further ado, I hope you enjoy this rewrite.

Characters do not belong to me

Plot belongs to hetalialovesyou

* * *

There he was.

Sitting in those_ sissy_ slacks that never had a single crease, that_ goddamn _dress shirt that he must have a million of but all in different colors, and that sweater vest. That_ stupid _sweater vest.

That sweater vest with its dorky pattern that reminded him of Harry_ fucking_ Potter—it was in his freaking dreams every night!

Alfred stared, his jaw locked tight as he watched a certain student's every single move. Nothing he did went unseen.

He watched as the boy with (surprisingly) disheveled hair took useless notes over the teacher's current lecture—which Alfred willingly chose to ignore and study his own makeshift subject:

Arthur Kirkland.

British exchange student and the _only_ that on Alfred Jones' mind.

Sure, some people would call it creepy to watch someone across a classroom for hours (especially seeing as how he didn't even know the foreign student—much less had a single conversation with him) but to the American it was completely and utterly _normal_.

And his brother agreed with him on that, too! (Forcibly, of course, but no one else had to know that.)

His friends on the other hand, thought otherwise.

"Look, you American bastard. I'm fucking sick and tired of listening to you go on and on about that goddamn Arthur, you_ fag_. Either you grow a pair, or you shut the _fuck_ up you—"

"Oh, Lovi, Lovi, it's not nice to speak that way to your friends," sighed out a cheery tanned senior who was seated across from Alfred, and attempted to calm the obviously exasperated Italian beside him. While the brown-haired potty mouth resorted to grumbling Italian curse words under his breath, Alfred could only roll his eyes and let out a sigh.

They just didn't _understand._

He was in love.

There was just something about that choppy blond hair.

"Alfred."

..And those God given emerald eyes.

"Alfred!"

Not to mention those caterpillar bushes the English student called eyebrows. Oh, Liberty Bell, how he wished he could—

"Alfred.. you're not even listening to me, are you?" He heard his brother whine from across the table, and in response stuffed his mouth with a few French fries.

"Sorry Matt," Alfred managed to say between large gulps of soda and huge bites of fries. "You're… just easy to ignore, y'know."

The curly blond sighed. Yeah. He knew that. He didn't need to be reminded of it, though.

"Instead of sitting here and telling us over and over again what Arthur did in class today.. maybe you should actually—I don't know, this is a _wild_ leap—talk to him?" Matthew suggested, but his words only fell onto dear ears, seeing as how his brother had already gone on repeat about the way the foreign boy would carelessly run his fingers through his hair when writing and it "some fucking way" made it look even better.

It was then that everyone at the table groaned.

Quickly speaking up, Francis—a senior, and also another exchange student from France—said what was on everyone's mind. "Américain, won't you please go and talk to the d'Angleterre before I drag him over here myself?"

Here, Matthew sighed. "Don't worry guys; I _didn't_ just say that five minutes ago."

"Alright, alright! Hot damn, I'll go—sheesh." The tanned student pouted, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he stood up.

"Put us out of our fucking misery and go, you brutto frocio." Romano, the Italian from before spat out and Alfred stuck out his tongue in reply.

What great friends, he thought bitterly to himself as he stumbled towards Arthur's table with his tray in hand. Things were fine, until he realized he hadn't thought of anything to say.

What if he made a fucking fool of himself?

Oh, that wouldn't be pretty.

He could tell him a joke?

No. He was British. They had a weird sense of humor.

Say hello? ..No. That was _over rated_.

Time was running out, and when he had finally come up to Arthur's table, all the American could do was stand there and stare like a damn fool.

After a few moments, Arthur glanced up from his food to spot the other student—one he had never even seen before—stand by the end of his table, slack jawed.

He cleared his throat, and went back to eating, figuring the odd git would leave.

But he didn't.

Finally, heaving a sigh, the Englishman set his fork down and gave Alfred an icy glare.

"May I _help_ you?"

Alfred's heart literally stopped. Words. Sweet baby Jesus, that accent was enough to let him die happy.

Obviously not amused, Arthur continued to give the junior an expectant stare, waiting for an explanation for that unnerving gaze of his.

"'Ello? Do you speak? Can you form bloody words—"

"DID YOU KNOW THAT AN OSTRICH'S EYE IS BIGGER THAN ITS BRAIN?"

The entire area around the Briton's table fell silent after hearing this, and the only thing the baffled student could manage to say in reply was, "w…what?"

With all eyes on him, the American scanned the room, gave a thumbs up to the table where his friends had been watching from afar, and took the chance to turn on his heels and run out of the cafeteria.

Matthew could only sigh and let his head fell onto the lunch table with a loud thump while the others erupted into fits of laughter, leaving Arthur sitting alone, his eyes still wide.

He wasn't in England anymore.


	2. Failure

Plot: hetalialovesyou

Characters do not belong to me

* * *

"Fashionably late as always, huh?"

"Oh, sod off, you bloody airy-fairy. Shouldn't be staring in a mirror and snogging yourself right now?" Arthur Kirkland quipped harshly to the pale boy who sat beside him during Physics. "Or are you too good, even for yourself?"

The silver haired boy rolled his eyes, and slumped onto the shared desk of theirs.

"Easy, easy. You're damn moody today," Gilbert, one of the foreign student's few friends gave Arthur a pout, and patted the seat beside him. "Still worked up over that weird kid from lunch?"

Arthur frowned. Who wouldn't be?

"Of course not. But all that's bothering me is that out of the hundreds of bloody people there in that cafeteria, he decided to enlighten me about ostriches and their brains. ..Who in their right mind would even know something like that?"

The German shrugged. "Maybe that's his way of saying he wants you."

"..I'm keeping my back to the wall with that one, I tell you."

"Hah, speak of the fucking devil," Gilbert laughed, pointing to said American who had waltzed in with his twin brother, and a few other students trailing behind them.

Great.

How bleeding great.

Arthur glanced over to the window beside his table, and imagined himself crashing through it, falling to the ground from the third floor and getting up—bloody and bruised, and running away.

..If only. If only.

Still snickering as the class had began, Gilbert watched the Briton's hopeless expression with glee. He loved watching people squirm this way.

Once the teacher had finally gotten the classes attention, he began the lesson with a droning tone, and Arthur dug his journal out to take notes—like always. Even though his mind might not be all there during these excruciatingly long lectures, at least his notes were.

However, when he had moved, the senior felt a burning sensation on the back of his neck, which caused him to turn slowly in the direction of it.

And of course.

Alfred—who had been boring a hole into the back of his blasted head with that stare of his—quickly whipped his head to the other side of the room, and struggled to whistle nonchalantly at being caught.

The dirty blond continued to glare at him, his eyes reading, "if you stare at me one more time, I'll kill your camp ass," but his threat happened to fall short when he had heard what the teacher was saying.

God, save the Queen. No. You had to be kidding.

No.

No!

"Arthur Kirkland, your partner is Alfred Jones. Go to Table 3."

Staring at his teacher, he nearly stood up and ran out of the room, but collected himself, and resisted the urge to punch the giddy American in the back of his head while Arthur followed him to their designated table.

Gilbert gave the Briton a wave, and a wink, laughing to himself while he walked to his own table with some other student.

Out of all the people. Out of all of the students. Out of all of the times where Arthur actually wanted Gilbert as his partner, he was shot down.

Blast it all. He quickly sat himself far across from the other at the black lab table, hoping and praying for the best. For the gitface to not embarrass him like before.

He was a new student. And foreign. He didn't need any more help to get himself picked on—not that he couldn't handle the buffoons who would.

Even though Arthur hadn't been listening all that well to the lecture, and what in the Queen's name they were supposed to be doing right now, he scanned over the Lab paper, and then let his eyes flicker over to his partner who had done nothing but sit and stare, as if a puppy expecting to get a treat.

No matter how "cute" that lovesick puppy was, he was about to earn a good kick in the stomach instead.

"…Is that all you're bleeding good at?"

"Hu—what?" The blue eyed American jolted up, blinking at the sudden start of a conversation.

Arthur frowned. "…I said. Is that all you're bleeding good at? Staring? Or, is your talent telling random students bizarre facts that no one really needs—or asks—to know?"

"…"

"I'm simply curious is all." The British student shrugged, getting out the materials: a stop watch and the worksheet given.

He could see from the corner of his eye that Alfred was struggling to come up with something witty and smart to say, but Arthur didn't give him the chance.

"Alright, let's make you useful. Go stand over there by the back of the classroom. The sheet says we're measuring your velocity by timing how fast you can run over a certain distance. When I say go, you run. Understand? Now, go."

"But—"

The foreign student shot him a glare, and Alfred sighed, slinking to the back of the classroom, lining up with all of the other students who had already started their lab.

"Ready?" Arthur chuckled, hearing Alfred groan from across the room.

Waiting a moment, the Briton said, "Go!" just loud enough for the other to hear, and watched as the American sped across the room.

He walked back, panting. "H-How was that?"

Arthur glanced over at the time, and he did his best to hold in his laughter.

"I didn't press the Start button. Terribly sorry, but you'll have to do it again."

Alfred gaped at the other, and clenched his fists for a moment before storming back to the other side of the room grumbling and cursing underneath his breath.

The lab had only called for the runner to do three trials.

Arthur ended up having Alfred do it seven times.

Gasping for air, the American—now sweaty, and his hair matted to his forehead—walked up to his lab partner with those damned puppy eyes. "W-..Was… that all.. y-you've got? Hah!"

The Briton rolled his eyes. "Is that so?"

"I..I-I have.. one thing to.. say to youu!" Alfred managed to say as he huffed, resting his hands on his knees with a smirk.

"…Pfft. What is it, you git?" Arthur snickered, his arms folded in front of his chest.

"I—" Before the poor American could get a chance to say what he wanted, his lunch had.. well, decided to pay a visit. A visit to Arthur's shoes.

The entire classroom stared in shock, while Gilbert rolled around on the floor, laughing hysterically and screaming, "OH MY GOD. I LOVE THIS FUCKING KID."

Matthew on the other hand, hit his head, just as he had before.

Twitching, Arthur managed to not kill the other right then and there. "…just… GET OUT OF HERE, YOU BLOODY FUCKING IDIOT."

Alfred watched with a whine as his object of affection stormed out of the classroom, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

That would be the last time he would ever be eating before Physics.

"…Fuck my life."


	3. Just Groceries

Plot: hetalialovesyou

Characters do not belong to me.

* * *

"I'm home," Arthur groaned as he locked the door behind him. The lights were all off, except for one bulb that was threatening to go out in the kitchen.

"Welcome back."

Ah. His father was home.

…and cooking. He could smell that horrid disaster from the front door.

Swallowing the bile that had crept up his throat, the Briton peeked inside the kitchen to see his father standing beside the stove with a burning plate of… only the Gods knew what.

At least it was comforting to know that his failure of cooking was hereditary.

"Codswallop. This blasted stove is nothing but a load of codswallop. This is the third bloody dish it's ruined." His father huffed while dumping the mystery goop into the trash.

Arthur rolled his eyes but chuckled softly. He had grown accustomed to his father's little cooking disasters. "I would've eaten it. You didn't have to throw it away."

Eaten it, yes. Enjoyed it? Not in the least.

"Eh," James Kirkland shrugged as he went back over towards the fridge, stopping to stare at his son's socked feet. Huh.

"What happened to your shoes, flower?"

The Briton grimaced.

"It's a long story, dad. A story my shoes and I would rather not speak of it."

The Englishman grunted as he dug through the freezer for something he could possibly just cook in the microwave, but, there wasn't one damned thing in there. "Do you mind running over to the store? We need some groceries."

Even though he had only gotten home, the room had gotten stuffy. It was probably because the fan in the kitchen wasn't working.

Ah. That wasn't true. And they both knew that.

Arthur was still moody from having to move, and his bitter aura lingered in the entire house—no matter how hard he tried to hide his temper from his father, knowing that his old man was just trying to do his best to support the both of them.

"…I'll go. What do we need?"

"Just a few things. Here," he scribbled a list of items on a scrap of paper laying around on the dinner table and handed it to his son, "chivvy along and come home quickly. Don't need you getting lost."

Arthur mimicked his father's grunt from before, and had begun to head outside when he remembered that his shoes were probably still…stained from that little incident in Physics class. Cursing under his breath, the senior stopped to dig a pair of shoes out of the closet and went on his way.

"That'll be… twenty four fifty. Thank you for shopping at Eisenhower market, come back soon." Matthew gave his customers a warm smile while he finished packing their groceries into plastic bags, listening to his brother whine from a couple of aisles away.

Once the couple left, the American's brother let out a quiet sigh, shaking head.

"Alfred, it's been… what, six hours since your little accident in Physics. Get over it already."

"Goddamn Matt, give me some fucking sympathy!" Alfred cried out with a pout covering his features. He walked over towards the register the curly blond was working at and sat on the check out line, frowning. "I puked. I fucking puked on his shoes! Of all people, I just had to puke on Arthur Kirkland's pretty little fucking shoes! Shit."

Matthew snorted through his nose, not really paying attention as he recounted the money in the register.

"…the least you could do is pretend that you care, Matt. Sheesh."

"Oh how awful, not on Arthur Kirkland's shoes. Oh no…-there. I cared. Can you go lock the door? We've got to close shop today."

Huffing, the American dragged his pathetic self over towards the door, and put the keys in, about to lock the door when he glanced up to see the person on the other side of the glass.

No way.

No fucking way.

"Arthur?"

Maybe God did love him after all.

Hearing his name, the British student stared at the boy on the opposite side of the door. "…You have to be bleeding kidding me."

Arthur had turned to walk away, his face flushed as Alfred hastily shoved the door open again.

Get his attention. Say something before he walks away!

"ARTHUR! D-DID YOU NEED TO BUY SOMETHING?" Alfred shouted, even though the other was standing right there beside him.

…Alright. Maybe that was a bit too loud.

Rubbing his temples, the Briton growled. Obviously, he wasn't amused with this little mind game the Almighty was playing with him.

"…Y-Yes. I do. J-Just let me in-,"—he paused for a moment, and swallowed thickly—"Please."

Alfred was almost tempted to fall onto his knees and cry at the beauty of this situation, but he merely cleared his throat and nodded in reply.

The Englishman glowered as he attempted to squeeze through the doorway, only to be stopped by the grinning junior.

"…But. On one condition," he said this with a cocky grin—even though he was trembling.

"What is it, you Yankee prat?"

"Let me walk you home."

FLKSDJ. WHAT?

"…W-Wha-… You…Youu.. agh! Fine, bloody fine. Just… help me get these blasted groceries, you woofter." He barked, shoving the small scrap of paper towards Alfred's chest as he stormed off into the aisles, grabbing the few things he already knew to get. Damn American. Damn America. Damn it all. The Briton continued to curse this under his breath and stomped off to the register Matthew had kept open, both of them watching as the clumsy oaf wandered back with at the very least, ten things in his hands.

The lovesick student's brother let out a gentle sigh, shaking his head in disapproval. Arthur had him, well, whipped, and they weren't even in a relationship. "Fifteen twenty."

Arthur gave Matthew the money, quietly thanked him—silently pondering how the poor boy could deal with being related to Alfred—and walked towards the door with two bags in his hands. Alfred followed suit, waving to Matthew and giving him a big thumbs up, which only caused the dirty blond to punch him in the arm. He gave a cheeky grin, closing the door behind them and headed down the street.

"So. What do you have to say for yourself, hm?"

The blue eyed boy blinked, his expression saying, "What?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "…You're not going to apologize about embarrassing me in front of the entire school during lunch? Or throwing up on my shoes?"

Chuckling nervously, Alfred rubbed the back of his neck and walked by the other's side. "I… I didn't mean to. Really. F-Fuck, I was…Idon'tevenknow." His face burned a bright shade of red. God. He hoped it wasn't noticeable.

Unfortunately for him, it was. And Arthur cocked a brow at it.

"...You're… an odd one, you are."

But the Briton smiled ever so slightly. Alfred was… an idiot, yes. This was a fact.

It was evident that he meant well. So, he couldn't really be all that mad.

The American peeked over from the corner of his eye to stare at Arthur's expression, and at seeing the other smile, a large goofy grin swept his features. He was so fucking happy. This was… perfect. Awkward? Yes. But it was getting somewhere.

He continued to flush as he walked ahead of the foreign student and turned around to face him. "So," Alfred started, scratching at his neck, "…why did you move here? It's… I mean… this town is pretty much in the middle of fuckin' nowhere, y'know."

"Yes, I know. My father lost his job in England. It's a long story. But, I was born here, and one of my old man's high school friends offered him a house at a decent price. So… here we are. My life isn't that glamorous, I'm sorry if I disappoint."

"Disappoint? Pfft, neverrr…" He mumbled, his mind utterly mesmerized as the Briton continued to talk. Alfred shook his head and pretended to be listening, but was really just busying himself watching the other's lips move. All he had heard was the word disappoint, and the melodic sound of his goddamn accent.

Arthur wrinkled his nose, not quite sure what to say. He had never… well, been in a situation like this before. Bleeding hell, he didn't even know what sort of situation this was. As they had moved closer towards his house, it had begun to rain lightly, so Arthur quickened his pace—soon passing the other up.

"I don't understand you. First, you yell at me about ostriches. Then vomit all over my favorite shoes. And now, you're walking me home. What goes on in that bizarre mind of yours?" He questioned as they made their way up the porch of his shabby little green house.

Alfred stood underneath the small covering in front of the doorway now that the rain started pelting the ground, his eyes only focused on the other's emerald eyes. God. He would have killed to have a moment like this before.

"…Hello?"

He was fucking alone.

"Are you listening to me, you bloody git?"

Alone with Arthur fucking Kirkland.

"…I'm going inside."

On his fucking porch!

Fuck. That was the only word that he could comprehend at this moment.

With his cheeks painted a fluorescent red shade, the flustered junior leaned in awkwardly to plant a chaste kiss the corner of Arthur's lips and mumbled what sounded like a good bye as he placed the other groceries down, turned on his heels just like he did that afternoon, and jolted down the street. "ENJOY YOUR DINNER!"

Arthur Kirkland stood on his porch with a dumbfounded look. The other had already gotten halfway down the block when Arthur screamed after him.

"YOU BLOODY WANKER, I'LL KILL YOUR CAMP ARSE!"

Alfred could only laugh.

He would sleep well tonight.


End file.
